Behind Prison Walls
by began-to-climb
Summary: Consequences come with adventure, and this time it's double. They've been caught and Sara has a secret. MiSa
1. Chapter 1

**Name: **Behind Prison Walls

**Rating: **PG-13

**Summary: **Michael and Sara have managed to keep their affair secret and discrete. Under the radar, they pass through the prison walls as one; quietly being together in the small moment's life offers them. Sara has let her guard down and her better judgement has been pushed away, with only the occasional worries for private days, because she's had an epiphany. She is a saint in love with a felon. No other words for it. But consequences come with adventure, and this time it's doubt. Not only do they get caught in a compromising position, but Sara's harnessing a secret.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters.

**Authors Note: **This setting is a wishful one. The boys have yet to escape but they're drawing closer, but only a couple of the men are in on the affair. Neither really accept the situation, but they're not going to question the man with the plan. You have to believe Sara would be with Michael romantically, despite all her internal flares, because she really wants to and she loves him. She's admitted it. This actually comes out of the suspicion that Sara's pregnant. Time will only tell.

XXXX

Sara Tancredi was straddling that line.

She buried her face in her hands and sighed heavily, the dread of not knowing what to do chilling her veins like ice. Her hair tickled her hands, masking any facial expression from the outside world, but she didn't swipe it away. Her brain was too confused, too far riddled that all she wanted to do was to go back to her house and curl up to watch a movie or sleep. She didn't want to go through with today; if she could delay it she would. But, in the back of her mind, she knew she had better get it all done today so she wouldn't have to prolong the agony.

She breathed in and retracted her head, her eyes darting up to the calendar in front of her desk. Nothing significant for that day was marked in red pen like some of the other squares; what she had done before she walked in the door to her office was a spontaneous action, one she wished she hadn't had to take. Today was going to be significant because something was going to happen…she felt it in her bones. The swivel chair squeaked under her as she sat back, crossing her arms across her chest and lifting her left arm to her lips. Her thumbnail descended between her teeth, chattering there as it was slowly bitten apart.

She'd chosen not to talk for much of the morning, unless absolutely necessary. Her body was still trembling from the conversation that had taken place when she'd come in for the day, not six hours ago, in the Warden's office. With all doors locked and no other ears to hear the words that left her mouth, she'd revealed her condition. The delicacy of her situation meshed with the prison would horribly spell disaster for her. She didn't give him any details; he wasn't interested in them. Pope hadn't been too supportive of the situation upon realizing that it was solely his decision whether she hand over her letter of resignation or she would only be put under suspension for the appropriate time period. Unfortunately, no decision was made during that time and they had agreed that they would converse further over lunch.

The waiting period in between was what was getting to her. Anxiety crawled on her skin, keeping her on edge, so much that every small touch made her jump or her reactions were further reason to ask her if she was okay. In truth, it was driving her crazy. She flicked her wrist and her watch flew up to her hand, the sleek silver sliding easily over the slenderness. Once the time was burned in her mind, her eyes traveled up to the clock hanging on the wall above the doorway for confirmation. A small smile twisted on her lips; Michael Scofield was her next appointment. The thought of his very name made her even more nervous. She was in such condition mainly because of him, but she didn't blame it on him. She launched herself from her chair and darted from the room to gather her supplies needed for the appointment.

She skittered past a few of the other inmates soundly on beds in the recovery wing, ignoring their unruly attempts to get her attention. After years of mending these men's wounds, she wasn't the least flattered by their advances, even if they flexed their arms muscles or did anything else obscene. Yet they still tried, every time. It was amazing, though, that only one man ever managed to get her to let her guard down. The same man that stole her heart. She walked the hall again, politely forcing a smile at them so she could get by without interference. She'd known some of them to get rowdy, but that's what the monitoring officers were for. She spotted Capt. Brad Bellick at the end of the hall, standing by her door while he talked with one of the nurses.

Bellick spun around on his heel when Sara approached, lifting his cap off his head and bidding her a friendly good-morning. Sara merely pried a smile. The plump captain with a balding head had a reputation of being corrupt, the sole man that believed he held authority, and ultimately abused the amount he firmly had. Sara wasn't very fond of the man. He began to jabber with his eyes focused on her, but her eyes drifted to other things.

That's when she found Michael.

The young inmate convicted for armed robbery was slumped in a plastic chair in the waiting area, grasping the metallic arm rests while he tapped his foot to his own rhythm. As normal, he was taking in everything around him with his astute observance, though he'd seen the inside of the same place every day since he arrived two months ago. Sara's lips tugged when his breath-taking blue eyes met hers. Her heart lurched inside her chest. He smiled at her.

She looked away, drawing in a sharp breath. "If you'll excuse me, Captain. I have a schedule to maintain and chatting is not fitted in. So, if you'll let Mr. Scofield and I get to our appointment, it'll be over quickly."

Bellick shot a glance at Michael. "Scofield!" As Michael sauntered up, apologizing from almost crashing into another doctor, Bellick turned to Sara again. "Why do you have to call him 'mister?' It indicates that you're not speaking to scum."

Sara followed Michael's figure, purposely standing between him and Bellick. She knew the two didn't get along too well and the longer they were apart, the better. "He's still a human being. I can speak to him which ever way I wish."

With that, Sara spun around and led Michael in, lightly holding his wrist. Michael stood off to the side, relaxing his hand in his pocket, waiting for Sara to close the door. His eyes flicked between Sara and Bellick, honing in on their continuing discussion. Bellick was lecturing Sara on how she should watch her back with certain prisoners, his gaze falling on Michael on occasion. "I mean, these men are here for a reason. You can never be too cautious. You have to be prepared in case they decide to…drive a knife into your stomach."

Sara drew the partition screen closer, separating the examination table from public view, as Bellick finished, completely blocking any view of the office from the outside world, and looked at him, placing her hands high on her waist. "Well, thank-you for that image which will no doubt stay with me through lunch, but I'd like to continue with my appointment if you will."

Bellick nodded and backed out of the doorway, casting one last suspicious look at pulled screen before bowing out. Sara shut the door, listening intently for the click, then pulled the tussle to shut the remaining blind that hung across the door window. She turned around and walked over to the examination table. There she found herself face to face with Michael, already seated with his shirt limply beside him. She gasped low in her throat. His face wore a pleasant smile; one that Sara could feel held an undercover agenda.

"Good morning." he said with a broader smile.

Sara gave a short nod and closed her eyes for a brief second as Michael's lips met hers for a moment. The kiss was simple, an elegant affection that felt so close to habit that they'd do it every morning before work. He drew back, studying her, and happily wrung his fingers together anxiously. He watched Sara work. No words left her lips; she kept her back to him, fidgeting with the steel tray that held the needles and insulin that were needed.

He titled his head then his eyes traveled down to his foot, wiggling his toes as evidence to what he was going to bring up. "Do you think my toes are haunting the prison?" Sara knitted her eyebrows together, silently saying she had no idea what he was talking about. "I sometimes wake up at night and I think I can feel them still attached to my foot. Is that weird?"

Sara only shrugged, offering no medical explanation. Michael's eyes widened when she wasn't looking and began the conversation, hoping to get something out of her—or at least get her to look at him—but after a few minutes without a reaction, he began to worry. She filled the syringe with the appropriate medicine then sponged the small area that the needle would drive into, tenderly handling his arm. He didn't even react as she plunged it into him; his eyes kept on her the whole time, his mind reeling about what was causing the sudden shutdown.

She set the disposed needle on the silver tray and moved to turn away, except Michael's hand latched out. His fingers found hers, intertwining. His thumb stroked her knuckles. She watched him do this then roved up to him.

He wore a concerned expression. "Are you okay?"

Sara blared a faux smile, nodding. "I'm fine." It was her accustomed lie.

"You can't lie to me." Michael informed her. How could he see straight through her like that? How could he read her so easily?

Sara was silent, eyes buried in his. She didn't have a reply for him. She could deny what he was insisting, tell him that she really _was_ fine, but he would only push further. He knew her. She slid her hand out of his and moved out of his reach. This time, with a mischievous smile, he bent down and swiped at the hem of her lab coat. It worked instantly. Her hand instinctively holding it down from his invasive hands, she couldn't harness a smile any longer.

She stepped back up to him, her face a few inches above his, and clasped her hand on the back of his neck. He was forced to tilt his head back to look at her.

She tucked her chin in close. "Mr. Scofield, you're being rambunctious." Michael shrugged and pulled her lips down to meet his in a tantalizingly passionate kiss. His tongue slid to meet hers, stroking incessantly. She drew back slightly, her breath catching in her throat. "You're incorrigible."

Michael smiled. "Amen."

They beamed at each other, abruptly back to their flirting, happily in love selves. All thought of Sara's earlier mood was now old news, completely forgotten. They kissed again lightly, hovering over each other's lips in an agonizing tease. Michael whispered how much he loved her, how when he was free they would be together. Sara smiled at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. He wiped it away, thumbing her soft skin. They leaned in close to each other, prepared to meet in another kiss…Someone cleared their throat.

Both heads flew up to see who their guest was. Warden Pope stood at the door, hand clutching the brass knob angrily. Sara backed away from Michael, placing distance between them both. Color drained from her face. She stole a peak at Michael; his eyes were concentrated on Pope. They'd gotten caught and there was no undoing it.

"Dr. Tancredi, we have to talk."

XXXX

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Hey guys. Thanks for reading this! I actually had this in my computer since, like, December but never thought it was very good so I didn't post it. Anyway, here's a continuation. And I promise, for anyone who reads _A Cappella,_ I will update within the week!

Previously on _Behind Prison Walls…_

_They'd gotten caught and there was no undoing it._

_"Dr. Tancredi, we have to talk."_

XXXX

Michael and Sara were chiseled into statues at the six dreaded words. The order was a gunshot in the cold silence, making Sara invisibly jump, her eyes closing for no longer than a second. She fiddled with the wrist cuff of her lab jacket, her mind racing with what she was supposed to do next. She swallowed and closed her eyes, numb words running through her head. Everything drifted away so she was alone in the space of her mind.

Pope ground her name out of his throat again, but didn't get a reaction. She remained in her place, hidden eyes darting under closed lids, her lips very slowly parting as breath was released. He squeezed the doorknob harder, growing annoyed with her incompetence to comply to his order. His eyes, now ebony from the emotions fusing in his system, traveled over to the tattooed inmate. Michael slowly reached up and rolled down his sleeve, blue orbs never breaking the focus on the Pope. He feared disrupting that. No one had talked and no one had moved in what began to feel like an eternity.

Sara coyly opened her eyes and found Pope staring angrily at her. Then, folding her hands together in her lip, she hung her head, bowing respectably as if the simple gesture would work magic and cause the whole ordeal to just disappear. Yet she didn't say anything to explain the situation. If her predictions were correct, there would be time to explain her story when Pope got to her. She had no doubt he would give a lambaste.

The older gentleman suddenly strode forward and roughly grabbed Sara's elbow. Michael's mate instincts drove in automatically just as Pope had snatched Sara. He stood and moved to stand in front of her, an unfamiliar protectiveness coming over him. If he could help it, he would be the barrier that separated her from harm, her soldier fighting her war. But he was defeated. Behind prison walls he was nothing but an inmate, a man nonetheless but a man without power or authority. It's true he could gain power with the other inmates, but to the warden he was just something else. He didn't matter and neither did his opinion. He didn't have a chance at standing up to him, no matter what. Thus, with one hard look from Pope that Michael knew meant he could be destroyed easily for the secret that had just been brutally uncovered, he backed off and unwillingly let Pope drag Sara out of the room.

"Sara?" Nurse Katie said as the pair passed the desk, the woman rising to her feet. Her friend merely cast her a glance.

Sara went with Pope, but even when her steps became willing and didn't need coaxing or a demand, he still didn't release her from his hold. Michael nearly followed them out the door, going only to the door before he realized that he wouldn't be allowed to follow any further. He growled in his throat as he watched Pope yank Sara into the elevator with only a request that Bellick take Michael back to his cell. The outside was frozen in time. Everyone watched the scene unfold, sets of eyes looking between the evanescent forms of the doctor and warden as the steels doors closed to the inmate standing at the door, his stare intently on the elevator. Michael didn't realize he was being observed until Bellick called his name, ushering him forward. He lowered his head as he walked to Bellick, not resisting the handcuffs situated onto his wrists.

He held his gaze on the elevator door until the last possible second when Bellick pushed him forward. Hands locked together in front of him, knees bouncing against the restraints, he trudged through the labyrinth of barred corridors, head towards the floor. He didn't care where he was going or whether he looked weak to Bellick or whatever. All he knew was that Sara, someone he knew he loved with all his heart, was taking the fall for the thing he began in the first place. God, if he hadn't…if he hadn't started this morning, if she hadn't been his main concern this morning, if her smile wasn't the most important thing then maybe…maybe none of this would be happening.

They were both culprits to the seeds of this relationship and he knew it, she knew it. This beginning—what Michael had hoped would be, if she would be willing to be with him once he escaped—had been through much consideration by both of them until it was a spontaneous leap into unknown territory. In one minute Sara had decided their relationship. It was simple, but status made it complicated. The lies to get into the infirmary for random times of the day or to stay the night for "immediate care" and the sneaking had come with the game. They cloaked their true faces from reality, acted as normal to simmer already fueled suspicion, and played the game accurately. But Michael knew it was all worth it.

She was worth it.

Michael clomped up the flight of stairs after Bellick, trooping past the cells of three good allies and friends as he descended down the long pathway to his own cell, then waited for entrance to be granted into home. It wasn't comfort, but he had to manage as his comfort had been stolen. Bellick unlocked the cuffs and Michael stepped inside, turning to face the smirk on Bellick's face.

"Sorry about your girl, Scofield." Bellick's faux sympathy made Michael's stomach churn. The bars slid shut. He sneered. "I guess prison doctors are really as dirty and deceiving as the ones they mend, huh?"

Michael narrowed his cold eyes, fury rising through his body. He wanted nothing but to latch out and grab the captain by the throat, but that would be a careless decision, one that would only get him into more trouble than he was undoubtedly already in. He balled his hands into a fist and let Bellick believe he had won. The beer-bellied lug smiled and left, vanishing from view. Michael studied the other inmates pacing their cells, their snickers reaching his ears. His eyelids drooped.

He turned in his cell and collapsed on the ground, his back against the brick wall facing the bunk beds. His cellmate, Fernando Sucre, didn't say anything, but he knew the man wanted some inside to what that was about. He dropped his head in his hands, fingers sprinkled across his head, reaching the back of his neck.

"I'm in so much trouble." he said.

XXXX

Pope ordered that he was not to be disturbed with any phone calls or visitors until Sara Tancredi left his office. His receptionist nodded, apparently frightened by the anger in the man's voice, and picked up the phone on her desk before the second ring. She apologized to the caller and said the warden was unavailable at the moment. Her eyes trailed Sara until the oak door slammed shut with a deafening thud. She put the phone back in its cradle and wondered to herself what had happened to infuriate the normally calm man.

Sara stood awkwardly in front of Pope's desk as he sat down in his large on the opposite side. He asked her to sit and she obliged. He squished his two index fingers together on his lips in deep thought, the chair rocking from side to side as he performed the movement. Sara let him think; her plan was to not say anything that wasn't addressed to her first. It had worked in the past, she figured.

It was several minutes of agonizing silence before Pope finally spoke. "How are you this morning, Doctor?"

Sara hesitated in answering him. "Fine, I suppose. It would depend." she replied experimentally.

"And after our discussion this morning, still fine?" Sara nodded. Pope inched forward on his desk, lacing his fingers together in front of him. "Sara, I regard you highly here. You're a smart, talented, and compassionate woman. It is my job to tend to these inmates and to trust the people I work with, every guard, nurse, doctor…and even my receptionist. That means I have to even trust the ones I don't like too much. I have to trust to keep people here safe and sometimes that doesn't even work.

"But, you see, I trust you more than a lot of people because I know you're good and I've known from day one what you've been through in your life. And I respect you for defeating that part in your life. You've always been a strong woman focused on her career and the good she wants to see come from it. I've also never known you to question me or any law, with the exception of a few from your father." Pope leaned forward on his arms, digging in closer. "You know our policy of employee/inmate relations. It is forbidden. I expected you to follow that, I did. But then a man must put two and two together when he's sought out early in the morning by one of his female employee's to tell him of something drastic in her life and he then catches said female employee with an inmate later in the day. He then must come to a conclusion, and there is only one at that."

"Michael didn't seduce me, or rape me, for that matter. He wouldn't do that." Sara interjected, jumping to Michael's defense.

"Then what, Dr. Tancredi? I would dreadfully hate to see someone of your talent and good nature be destroyed by this, and your reputation with it. I can only think of what your father would say—"

"Please do not involve my father."

"I didn't have an idea of what to do in this situation, to the least with you. There is only one logical thing I can do. Sara…"

Sara stared at him as he talked, watched his lips move as words came out, but her mind drifted off. Any question he asked went unanswered, and unheard, by her. His lecture continued, his soft demeanor nicely reading her the rights, but she wasn't listening. Memory lane swerved to a screech on the surface of her mind, bringing forth the very start of all this mayhem.

The constant flirting had been the starting point, his charm slowly tearing down the wall around her heart brick by brick with every day he smiled at her, every time he made her day worth it. Sara could sense something in the pit of her stomach each time he visited her and each extra time after that. He moved first, progressively seeing her more and more. He would fake sickness or an injury late at night, which would cause Sara to have to stay at the prison longer or occasionally over night. This valuable time gave them some time alone without interruption and without people watching. It made things easier for them. And, luckily, no one caught on.

For weeks it remained that way, clandestine visits late into the night where they talked about random things, shy smiles passed, adoring eyes laid on one another. Briefly they touched on what they would do if they decided to date, but it wasn't a final decision, nor was one made. It wasn't until nearly three weeks ago when there had been a major riot that ignited the whole prison into a massive lockdown, exactly like the last one. Only there was no Michael to the rescue because there wasn't a Sara in need to her bright knight. The day had been spent outside the gates, silently praying Michael was safe, waiting for word that the riot had ended. It didn't come for another day.

Sara had been given a copy of the fatality list; Michael Scofield was on it.

The list had been distributed in the morning so by lunch the prison was up and running again as if it were any normal day, minus the surplus of injured men in the infirmary. Sara had been quiet, hiding her mourning for Michael, until passing the storage room, she was yanked inside. Her survival instincts had come in almost instantly, pounding at the person holding her, trying to uncup her mouth so she could scream. Then the dark figure spoke her name, the intimacy in its voice being too familiar for her own liking, and she knew who it was. Michael hugged her, shushing the tears behind her eyes.

She had been so disoriented from the happiness that he was alive that she didn't realize what she'd done before it reluctantly ended. Sara had cupped Michael's face, as he had done while he wiped away her tears, and pulled him down to her, crashing her lips on his. All those clichés about time stopping and your heart racing became oddly too real. They'd both drawn back in complete awe of what had happened and stared at each other, as if the other had an explanation. But then that hadn't been so important, for Michael kissed her hungrily.

At the thought of such an amazing first kiss, she squirmed in her seat. Her hand momentarily rested on her stomach, glancing out the window, then turned back to Pope. Her ears tuned in to what he was saying. He was gesturing as he talked about the last time a secret affair had been discovered in the prison. Sara winced; disgusted that she and Michael were being compared to two men who couldn't keep their balls in their pants.

Pope fell silent. He wanted her side of the story. She looked up at him, her fingers grazing her nose as she sniffed. "I know I should feel guilty or ashamed for what I've done, but I don't. The truth it, Warden, that I love him. And the feeling is mutual. You may categorize me as another vulnerable little girl and try to convince me that he's using me, that he's lying to me, but I won't listen. I'll know you're wrong. That's because I know how he feels and I know what my heart tells me. So, honestly, we love each other and neither of us care if you—or anyone else for that matter—accept that. We know its right, and that we're right for each other. We don't expect people to accept us, our relationship, but he is like no one I've ever known. He is the only one that has ever made me feel like this so…That's that. End of story."

There was silence. Pope fidgeted in his seat, winging his fingers together and smacking his lips as he progressed what he had just heard. He'd heard it correct; his best prison doctor had fallen in love with an inmate and there had been consequences. Finally, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a white form. He set it in front of him and clasped his hands together.

"All right, Dr. Tancredi. Since this…discovery only rushed us into a conclusion that was going to be reached at lunch, I'd like you to hand in a letter of resignation. I'll have to file a report, but it'll only be for my conscious. No one else will see it. I hope that's all right because I'd rather this remain classified. You're too good to be fired, Sara, but you just got yourself into something you may not be able to handle." He stood and offered his hand to Sara. She took it as she stood. "You'll have two days to clear your things and all of your patients, including Mr. Scofield, will be temporarily given to someone else until we find a replacement. It was a pleasure having you."

Sara nodded. "Thank-you for being so…well…"

Pope waved his hand in an order of dismissal and Sara took the gesture. She trotted to the door and had it open when Pope called her back. She looked over her shoulder and saw the older man was in his seat, reading classes pushed down low on his nose, head tucked in, while his eyes watched her.

"I advise you to tell him what we've agreed on. Understood?" he said.

"Agreed."

"Thank-you. You may go."

Sara dropped her head then closed the door behind her. The receptionist bid her farewell, but she didn't return the condolence. _Oh God, _she thought as she walked down the hall. She had to tell Michael.

XXXX

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Hey, this is chapter three. Sara has to tell Michael; how is he going to take it? Also, I'll probably revise chapter 3 of _A Cappella_ because it just didn't feel right, so look for that. But, as of right now, the focus is this story.

XXXX

Michael didn't sleep that night.

Through the black, crossing the threshold of the darkest hour that transferred them into a new day, he rarely ventured into the light. Night guards walked up and down the levels all night, the clinking of their keys against their leg and the echo of men stirring in their sleep creating a melody for his melancholy thoughts loitering on other things. The first few hours that the lights burned out, his ears perked at every sound then, slowly, the whimpers and muffled screams died and he was left in the quiet.

Warden Pope hadn't come and gotten him from his cell or during yard time, which surprised him. Every turn he made, ever pound of a boot or elaborate shadow, he thought it was the older man. But it never was. Then he didn't care about how being left out made him feel any longer; sitting on the edge of his bed, head ducked low in his hands, he had more concern for her than for himself. It was true that this was living condition was only temporary and that his relationship would do very little to hurt him to everyone else besides maybe a few shaken heads and whispered gossip, but this would mar her more. He didn't know what Pope had done to her, but he had a good idea. The man was nice, but he could be strict, so he wouldn't have settled for a good scolding. No, that was too light.

For the entire night he ran the scene through his mind then listed the consequences. It settled his stomach only a little, but he feared sleeping. Whatever he did, his mind track always shifted to her. Would he see her in the morning? Had she been fired? Would she be able to talk to him again? So many questions, so many blank canvases. For the first time since he had stepped inside those walls, he didn't have the answers. He wasn't just voluntarily not revealing those solutions, but he didn't have them. This time he had the questions and Sara had the answers. How had the table turned?

He waited until morning, the questions still fresh in his mind, and went about his day. He didn't eat, which earned him a couple suspicious looks from his cellmate and mafia friend, but he ignored their encouragement. He couldn't talk to them about this; they'd all have to be left in the dark this time. His request to talk to his brother was denied. He was left alone. What he wanted right now was his brother; he needed advice or something from someone who he trusted with the information.

Since his infirmary visit was routinely scheduled at eleven am, several hours before yard time, he checked his watch with consternation, repeatedly lighting the face where he could see the numbers blared in black lettering. The numbers only grew. He wished they could rewind; maybe he could change both their futures. What he should have been asking himself was how far did he want to go?

Then ten fifty-five arrived, the usual time he was escorted to the infirmary. He dosed his face with water just as the bars slid open, his hands poised on his cheeks as his ears pinpointed the frustration of the officer. If he were lucky he wouldn't get Bellick; the captain knew and would likely patronize him without mercy. He turned and received lucky news. At the gate entrance stood Louis, one of the nicer guards in the prison. Michael smiled to himself as he was cuffed and led down the stairs. They exited the block and fitted through the labyrinth, weaving through the barred and pleading corridors.

The infirmary was busier than usual, as Michael instantly noticed. Nurses and a few doctors from other areas bustled around the white center, racing with instruments in their hands into a room that was lined with bloody inmates or, like him, medical cases. He stood off to the side, figuring he should stay out of the way as to avoid harm. He only moved when Louis asked him to join him at the nurse's desk. Katie was behind the counter, typing quickly on the keypad, mumbling to herself about the lack of impromptu communication.

She and Louis talked for a moment, the man having to deter Katie's attention from the screen every few seconds to continue the conversation. She would ramble then would spin off track, grumbling under her breath or lightly hitting the computer if it malfunctioned. It was a prison computer and not the brightest. Michael didn't listen; instead he took to looking around. He watched the skilled moves of the nurses and doctors, how they worked side-by-side, managing on occasion to handle more than one case at the same time. With each room not having blinds or anything, he peered through the glass of each room. Most of the beds were occupied.

One man dressed in a white coat darted from one room, a needle in hand with a strange light yellow substance inside the capsule, his feet moving quickly as he swiftly changed into the neighboring room. Michael followed him. _He must be a rookie_, Michael thought humorously. The man stuck the needle in an inmate with a bandaged leg, the man wincing at the unexpected prick, and then he eased as he neared a woman at the desk inside the room. Michael's breath caught.

Sara was in her office, dressed down in a black short-sleeved shirt and pinstriped pants, rummaging through the desk drawers, fumbling as she depleted the contents in the drawers onto the desk. She gathered the items in her hands, bunching pens and pencils and file papers together, then tossed them into a cardboard box in the chair. Michael narrowed his eyes. Why was she packing? The male touched her arm, getting her attention, and said something to her to which she pointed at a stack of manila folders neatly piled at the corner of the desk. The man smiled and reached over to the folders. He picked up a paper flower, twirling it between his fingers, but Sara snatched it back. Michael smirked; it appeared she had an attachment towards the gift.

The man looked over at him; Sara followed. Her smile faded. Michael gulped.

"Dr. Tancredi no longer works here." Katie explained. Michael gapped at her. _What?_ "All her patients have been given to the new doctor, Adam Lockwood. He's busy right now, so, Mr. Scofield, I'll be administrating your shot today. If you'll just give me a second."

Katie continued to type on the computer, explaining to Louis that she had to file a medical report of an inmate that had gotten too rowdy due to the amount of drugs he was given after an emergency surgery. Michael watched Sara, forgetting that he was in an infirmary waiting on a nurse to give him a shot because the woman that had been great at her job had lost her job due to his mistake in taking a personal loving to her. How did this happen? Sara was, apparently, intent on avoiding Michael's lock for she didn't give him another look, but proceeded to clear all her things.

She gave everything a second count and exited the room. The box tucked under her arm, she stared straight ahead and no where else. Michael watched her carefully, knowing that she would slip out of curiosity. Sure enough, she did. Just before her body became in line with his, her eyes flicked to him. She retracted when she was caught. He tried to step in front of her so she would have to talk to him, but Katie made it that moment to patter around the desk and engage him. Sara swept past him without a second look and pursued to the elevator. She punched the button.

Michael felt a hand on his arm, the gentle caress of Katie's fingers on him both resounding comfort and warning. "She'll be back at two to collect papers." she told him.

The elevator dinged and the steel doors opened, exposing a barren square. Sara hesitated, the edge of her lip twitching. She couldn't hold back any longer. She looked to her right, her eyes catching Michael, and smiled weakly. Then she was gone. Michael was led away.

Another barrier had been created.

XXXX

Sara adjusted the tote bag further on her shoulder, fiddling with her car keys before stuffing them in her pocket. There wasn't any point in putting them in her purse when she didn't have any urge to spend ten more minutes in this place she had called her benefit to society. Right now it was simply what it was called. It was a prison and nothing else. The grotesque odor of urine and sweat rose to her nostrils as she passed the cell blocks, finding that the doors were doors were open but the bars were locked shut. Monitoring guards watched the prisoners roam the open area from the booth.

Sara drew her coat tighter over her stomach, hugging the swelling as she raced up a flight of stairs, her heels clapping the iron. She had to pause on the first landing to fight past the nausea growing. She felt like crap. The afternoon she'd been given yesterday had left her with nothing much else to do but think. She'd sat on a bench in her favorite park, the wind engulfing her, sweeping under the tree limbs that stretched over her, and thought. She'd found herself watching the children with their parents on the playground, listening to their delighted screeches and giggles as they ran around the perimeter of the jungle gym, their small legs carrying them ahead of a chasing parent. Two little girls were sitting in the sandbox while their mothers sat and chatted like friends. Maybe they were.

To do that, to be in that position one day, Sara stifled tears. Where had her life spun out of control like this? That man, Michael Scofield, was to thank for all of this. He was both a curse and a blessing, the holy Angel of Death that had brought a circumstance to a good result. Her life would change after this, that she knew, but she had to wonder about what ifs.

Her mind had always won over her heart, her instincts supporting that part of her in any position. She put her job before her social life and that was how it had been ever since she'd became free of drugs hold. Her mind was always right and had always pushed her in the right direction, leading to awards and glory that most people told her to be proud of. She was proud, but not happy. Then Michael had walked into her infirmary doors and used his charming ways and captivating eyes to lure her in. She'd let her guard down and had blocked her better judgement that had screamed she was getting way in over her head. For once she'd followed her heart and had found happiness for a while, putting very little regard to how it could potentially turn out.

She wished then that she'd listened to her mind. Maybe—there were too many of those. She couldn't help but now think that everything she had done was wrong and that maybe it wasn't right to begin with. She'd been dealt the lousy cards, so why did it feel so lucky? Her mind and her heart fought. This time she couldn't predict who would win.

The door to her left opened a jar and a hand latched out. The echo of her heels stopped. Her surprise faded. She nearly clattered to the ground, stumbling under her own feet, when she fell into something sturdy. She regained her composure, straightening. Just from the familiarity of it she knew she was storage room. This room held a lot of their memories.

"Did I get you fired?" a voice rasped.

She looked up at what had caught her and discovered Michael. His hands never touched her, but his eyes were inside her. He'd pulled her in. He had to talk to her. But how did he get in? He repeated the question, louder this time so she would listen to him, but she didn't. A sudden claustrophobic feeling washed over her; her breaths labored, her chest moving hastily, her eyes darting.

"Michael, what have you done?" she heaved. "I have to go."

She turned and stalked towards the door, but Michael caught her arms and whirled her back around. His grip was firm, telling her silently that he needed something from her and he wasn't going to just let her go.

"Did I get you fired?" he slowly drew out.

"I resigned. Pope asked me to do it, but I was going to do it anyway."

"Why?" Michael shook her gently.

"Michael, I can't…not now." She sank dramatically. "We shouldn't be here, we shouldn't be doing this."

"Look, I'm worried about you. You haven't been acting like you lately and I want to know why. Please, talk to me, Sara."

Sara stared at him in the eye. He needed to know; he deserved to know. "We need to end this. I resigned of us. We can't do this anymore."

Michael dropped his hands to his side. A weight had just been built onto his heart. "Why?"

"Because there was a consequence of us, Michael!" she cried. She stepped back and began to pace. Michael trailed her with his eyes. "I knew from the beginning we shouldn't have done this. I mean, it was crazy, right? We actually we could make a relationship work. God, I was so selfish. I never should have let this happen. It was my fault. I let my guard down and I let this go when I should have stopped it before it got this far. I knew not to get involved. I knew, I knew. Oh, what have we done?"

Michael grabbed her shoulders, stopping her rant. She had tears in her eyes. What was she talking about? What consequence? "Are you saying you didn't want to be with me?" Did she?

Sara shook her head and stroked his cheek. "No, that's not what I meant. I do because I love you. But this is too much. You have no idea what we've done."

"Then tell me, Sara. Jesus, I'm right here. Tell me now! What have we done that has mixed you up so horribly? What has made you do a complete one-eighty on our relationship? What is it, Sara?"

"I'm pregnant!" she screamed, wrenching from his arms.

Michael's heart imploded. Was that…was that what she said? Pregnant? He drew in a breath, nearly choking on it. "Pregnant?"

"Yes." Sara confirmed lowly.

Michael didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't know whether to believe it. How did this happen? He still was having a hard time stomaching it. "Is it, I mean, it's mine, right?"

"Yes." she repeated.

"Our first time? That was only once."

"That's all it take, Michael."

Michael nodded slowly. That one night had resulted this. He'd thought they'd been careful about not getting caught, but they'd overlooked _that_ possibility. It had been a week after their affair had begun and Sara was working late under Michael's request. He'd started to show up in her office when she least expected it; she never asked how he did it, because she already had an idea. At night the infirmary was very quiet because no prisoners were allowed to stay over night unless they were deathly ill or had an obvious injury, so with no guards and no other inmates, it was the perfect plan. He'd dropped in, locked the door, and taken her in his arms. They'd danced to a soft love song on the radio she had left on, then made love. He was slow and gentle, caressing her skin with his lips, bringing forth moans that neither concealed. Like any other couple, they slept in each other's arms. Michael was gone by dawn. They hadn't done it since, but that had sealed their commitment and loyalty.

Sara saw instantly that Michael was having a hard time digesting the load. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her, and kissed his cheek, hovering there for a second as if thinking about something else. But she drew back and offered him a smile.

"I have to go. I'll be seeing you." she whispered.

She took a step back, keeping her eyes on him, and opened the door. Once again, she vanished. Only, Michael stared at the empty space in front of him, fighting the two sides inside of him. He was reluctant to leave.

"She's having my child." he told himself.

For some reason, hearing it pass through his lips made it more real to him.

XXXX

Michael sat alone on the bleacher. The yard in front of him was piled with throngs of prisoners all socializing within their own groups. His particular group was sitting further down the bleachers, bunched in a tangled group as they discussed the plan. He had purposely distanced himself, not just now but since he had gotten back from talking to Sara.

The thirty minutes he'd had in his cell before now had given himself time to think over the information that now pranced in his mind, increasing the urge to talk to his brother. He hadn't told Sucre; if he found out that he too was expecting a child he'd want the dirty details. He'd find out he was romantic with Sara and then they'd plunge into this uncomfortable future-father talk that Michael just wasn't sure he wanted right now. He still hadn't decided if he was ready to be a father. He knew he liked kids and did want them one day after he'd settled down, but now? With so much else planned in the future? With so much ahead?

He'd had to stop himself on more than one occasion from getting too far ahead of himself. He drifted into baby names, humoring himself as he piled over lists and lists of names he'd ever heard. He picked the ones he liked the most and stuck with him, writing them down without Sucre seeing. But he stopped himself each time he thought about all the things he could do and teach this child. He reminded himself that with what was coming that he couldn't be a present father. He was going to be on the run; how could he ask Sara and their child to abandon her life and run with him? He liked the thought of a child, of a little boy or girl, but the reality was that he couldn't be there. Not now and maybe not later.

He'd forever be the man that snuck in the shadows and watched from afar because if he got too close than they'd get hurt and he couldn't do that to her, to them. In his heart he wanted to be there, wanted the family life, liked that option, but truth was, he wasn't going to be given that luxury. Not for a while anyway.

He heard the guards yell that someone was leaving, the message being directed to the guards by the large doors. He looked over and saw Sara coming closer to him, her stride down the path headed straight for the doors. She was alone. Michael jumped and stampeded to the fence, grasping the fencing. As she neared he called to her. She glanced at him, but kept going. He followed her, relentless.

"Sara, I really need to talk to you. Come on, please." he said, desperation in his voice.

Sara stopped and sighed. She gave in, tramping across the grass until she was only a couple inches from the fence. "What is it, Michael?"

Michael glanced to the side, making sure he wasn't being spied on. The guards weren't watching. He straightened so he blocked any of the prisoners from seeing her. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly.

Sara shrugged. "I don't know. I was scared at how you'd react. I was going to tell you all along, you know, the day before I left. But getting caught complicated things. I told Pope that I was pregnant, a couple days after I found out, but I didn't want him to know you were the father. I didn't want anyone in here to know. You'd become a prime target in here, Michael, and I couldn't let that happen. But Pope put it together; hence I've resigned. I was always going to tell you, it just had to be more real for me."

"So it doesn't feel real to you, either." Michael probed with a chuckle.

Sara laughed. "No, it doesn't. But it's a good thing."

"Yes." Michael gazed at her. She was so beautiful, for the first time seeing that pregnancy glow. "It's a great thing."

Michael snaked his fingers through the fencing, keeping his gaze locked on her, and pressed the tips of his fingers flat on her stomach. They both fell silent, feeling the gravity of this movement. Sara gasped under her breath; no one had touched her stomach like that yet. It sent a chill down her spine. His fingers stretched as far as they can go, Sara took another step forward and they both stared down at his touch.

"This isn't how it's supposed to be." Michael refuted. "I'm not supposed to be in here when this happens. I'm supposed to be able to be there for you."

"We both know you can't be here for this." Sara said, her voice breaking.

"I can be. You just have to let me. We can do this together, you and me."

"But we can't." Sara denied, biting her lip to keep down the lump in her throat.

Michael rotated his index finger on her stomach, tracing a circle on the fabric of the shirt. It tingled. Here they stood on stood on opposite sides of the fence, a representation of their place in law where they would always be. For this they are denied each other, denied the pleasure of raising a child together, denied of that family life filled with soccer games and Friday night movies. It wasn't right, but it was what they would have to abide by for the time being.

Sara brushed her fingers under her nose, holding it there for a second, as she collected the will to part from Michael. She didn't want to, but what choice did she have? She looked at him expectantly; he understood and nodded, retracting his fingers. Emptiness gaped in her heart, their child already crying for its father. She walked backward, back onto the gravel, her eyes never leaving Michael. _How could this hurt so much_, she wondered as she finally turned.

But Michael drew her back. "Sara,"—She acknowledged her name—"I like the name Meghan for a girl. Hayden for a boy."

Sara nodded and carried on down the pathway. She felt Michael's eyes on her all the way until the gate closed behind her. Digging out her keys from her pocket, she unlocked her car and climbed inside. She sat for a moment, trying to catch her breath and hold back the tears threatening to break. She held her stomach, the aching overwhelming her; a tear leaked down her cheek. Closing her eyes, she sucked everything in and went on. She pulled a sheet of paper from the depths of the tote bag and fetched a pen from the glove compartment, leaving it open with the obscene yellow light beaming down.

She examined the paper in front of her. It was her list of baby names. She clicked the end of her pen, the point snapping out, and circled a name. She tossed the pen back into the compartment, slammed it closed, and started the car. For the last time, she drove out of the parking lot of Fox River State Penitentiary and didn't look back.

XXXX

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **_Scary-Girly_, you have read my mind! You'll see what I mean. So, without further ado, here is chapter 4.

XXXX

Michael stuck the key into the lock, the edges cut into the metal fitting perfectly with the designs inside the brass contraption, and turned it to the right, holding the knob firmly in his hand. He heard the faint click as the lock inside flipped to the opposite side then stopped. He glanced both ways, scouring both ends of the hall for spying neighbors who might have seen him, then pulled the key out and entered the apartment.

He halted shortly as soon as the door closed quietly behind him. His hand scurried on his left; the limb flailing for a small lamp he knew was resting on the table beside him. His hand grazing a paper-like shade, he ventured underneath it and twisted the knob. Faded yellow light came on instantly. It wasn't much to provide light for more than a few inches, but it gave him a moment to recollect himself. He swirled the ring of keys around his index finger, examining the home in front of me, before tossing the keys on the table, the iron sliding on the glass until it came to a rest beside the vase of flowers. He set the duffel at his feet.

He inhaled a breath and stepped back into the darkness that shrouded the apartment. Blue moonlight showered a corner by the TV, reflecting off the metallic screen, and reached across the fabric of the couch set in front of it. He paused in a batch of the rays and finally took in his surroundings. He smiled at the thought that this had become a somewhat ritual for him over the years. Here he was, in Sara Tancredi's apartment, a feeling of homeliness inviting him in, slinking through the shadows. He was accustomed to it by now, the several times he had done it as opposed to her meeting him a hotel had taught him to be sneaky on the creaking boards. He knew which board and where in every room, it felt like.

This was how it had been for the last four and a half years.

After Sara had resigned under the Pope's request, when he found out and Michael was still incarcerated in prison, a specific restriction had been placed on Michael's visits. Sara was no longer allowed to have any contact with the prisoner, not under any circumstances. He was monitored thoroughly, unable to write to Sara or anything of that nature. Neither liked it, but what could they do? She was well known around the prison, just as their best doctor, so wearing disguises and using a fake name wouldn't work. Michael knew it would torture him. And it did; within a week of not being able to talk to his beloved, he had enlisted Veronica Donavon. Since she was a longtime friend and he trusted her that she wouldn't go to the media and blare this "inappropriate" relationship to the public, he asked she make friends with Sara so he could communicate with her that way.

Michael moved into the living room, his hand feathering over the back of the loveseat as he drifted, and stopped. Coloring books were strewn out over the coffee table, the crayons and markers tossed aside on the open pages, the brightness of the pictures dimmed in the density of the black and blue world. The street light was only a shadow on the drawn curtains, barely visible. His blue eyes looked down; he smiled. Kneeling down, his hands grasped the animal and brought it up, studying it. The gray stuffed rabbit was missing an eye. Unfortunate thing.

As he stroked the fur, the ears flattening on its head, he remembered when he'd bought the present. It had been the first time he'd even met his child. He'd fallen in love all over again that night.

_All the lights were on in Sara's apartment, the small hand over her grandfather barely touching the ten, as the door opened. Michael slipped in, the small bag held loosely in his hand, the pink ribbon falling out of his palm, and traipsed to Sara's bedroom. The door was open a jar, a slither of orange light flowing into the dark hallway, a mother's soothing voice trailing the light. Her words floated into his ears, gracing him through the door for a moment, before he gently pushed it open. He stood in the doorway, lips parted in a small 'o', his eyes concentrated on her._

_"Veronica said you'd be stopping by." Sara said from her bed. _

_Michael never thought she could look so beautiful. She was dressed in a satin top and pants, an untied robe hanging off her shoulders, a bundle cradled in her arms, smiling down at it with the largest smile. "Lincoln had to force me to stay there." he insisted. _

_He hadn't wanted to stay in that cabin. More than anything, he'd wanted to be at that hospital, holding her hand right beside her as their child was born, but when the call came, Veronica was sent instead. Hours later, the news came. It was a healthy baby and Sara would be discharged the next day. Yesterday his baby had been born and tonight he was going to meet her. Carefully, Sara stood and walked over to Michael; he met her halfway, abandoning his present on her bed. She lowered her cheek to her shoulder, keeping herself protectively close to her newborn, and looked up at Michael. _

_The new father was still handsome with the same blue eyes and mysterious smile. He was leaner, but still the man she loved. The father of her child, the love she had risked everything for the last ten months to be with. What she knew was that he was worth it. He diligently brushed the blanket away, thus revealing the face of his daughter. He choked on his breath. She was gorgeous. His eyes started to mist over._

_Sara bit her lip. "Michael, this is your daughter, Meghan Elizabeth."_

_Michael nodded, his lips quivering as he smashed them together. He was trying to control himself. Sara offered her to him; he smiled, insisting an automatic yes. Like professional parents, their daughter was transferred from one to the other, barely stirring the little girl. Michael balanced himself then took to admiring her in his arms. With his blue eyes and puffs of his dark hair and her lips and nose, she was an epitome combination of them both. _

_"She's so tiny, but…my God." Michael breathed._

_"I know. I can't believe it either." Sara said._

_"Look what we made Sara. This little girl…she takes your breath away."_

_Sara agreed; that's what she was. She drew her hand up and tenderly stroked the soft hairs on Meghan's head. "How long can you stay this time?" _

_"A couple days." Michael answered without looking up. He rocked Meghan, cooing at her. "Remind me to thank Veronica next time I see her."_

_Sara laughed to herself. "Yeah, she really has helped these last months."_

_It was honesty. Michael's plan of using her as a link between the parents had worked inside the prison and even more outside. During her visits with Michael, she'd pass letters Sara had written while she updated him on her pregnancy or any new evidence in Lincoln's case, then when Michael had broken out, she provided that same service. Without eyes watching him from sunrise to sunset it got easier. At every chance he got, when he felt he was safe for a night or two, he would sneak into her apartment and they would enjoy those precious hours. Though it took herself to convince her that this was exactly where she wanted to be, Sara seemed to have rethought her perspective on their relationship for she would welcome him with open arms each time. They were unique, she said, and something like this was not to be taken apart. It didn't matter how many people were against them, how many people tried to break them apart, there weren't any rules that they couldn't be. Sooner or later, he'd be free and she'd be there waiting. _

_"Lincoln was probably just as anxious to see this little girl as I was. He can't wait to meet his niece. He wants pictures." Michael explained with a smile, speaking fondly of his brother. The eldest of the brothers had been supportive of the situation and had even prepared him for fatherhood, though he wasn't exactly a role model. "LJ's excited too." Michael paused. He cleared his throat. "We, uh, brought Meghan something."_

_"Wha..?" Sara glanced towards the bed where Michael was indicating and saw the bag. She picked up the sparkling gray bag and untied the ribbon, glancing repeatedly between father and daughter. "Hey, Meg, daddy got you something. What do you think it is?" she asked her daughter, who seemed to have more interest in sucking on Michael's finger than the actions of her mother. _

_She rummaged through the tissue paper, eyes buried deep inside the bag, and pulled out a curly gray stuffed rabbit. She discarded the bag back on the bed and gazed at the rabbit, her eyes tearing up. It was new, in absolute perfect condition. Sara hugged it under her arm. "It's adorable, Michael. Meg, look at this." She held it up for Meghan to see; the baby giggled, waving her hands at the rabbit. "I think she likes it. Yeah, look at this."_

_Michael watched Sara dance the rabbit in front of Meghan, smiling as the girl's laughter rung in his ear. Sara would be a great mother, he knew it. Just from that stupidly silly look on her face he could tell. Meghan was lucky. He leaned into Sara and kissed her head lovingly, causing her eyes to flicker up to him. _

_"You should rest." he suggested. _

_"Meg—" Sara started._

_"Is in the hands of her father. Let me take care of her." Michael said. _

_"Okay." _

_Sara kissed Meghan's head and settled on her bed. As soon as her head touched the pillow, exhaustion washed over her. She never felt so tired. She tucked her hands under the pillow, drawing it closer to her, and watched Michael under drooping eyes. He bounced Meghan in his arms, laughing and smiling down at her as he displayed the rabbit to her. Sara smiled and closed her eyes, leaving father and daughter to have some one-on-one time. She fell asleep. After a few minutes Meghan's laughter died and she followed her mother's example, peacefully slumbering in the protective embrace of her dad. _

_Michael gazed down at her. Never had he felt such an overwhelming love for someone, as cliché as he knew that sounded. He cradled her to his chest. "Hey, Meghan, this is your daddy. I love you, little angel. You'll always be my little angel, won't you? I promise, I'll always be here for you, to take care of you."_

_Two mornings later, Sara woke to an empty bed. He was gone._

After that he tried to be as present as he possibly could, but it became harder than he suspected. He visited as often as possible, which started at several times a month, but over the years dwindled down to a couple every few months. He missed his girls every day and yearned to be with them, but everything surrounding Lincoln's case and the government was keeping him away. People were hunting them and if he went to his family then they could get hurt. He kept his distance, calling Sara to tell her he was okay and he wanted to see them. He always cried when Meghan asked him why he wouldn't come see her.

He missed them so much.

But tonight things were different.

"Daddy?"

Michael turned around, recognizing the small voice, and saw Meghan staring at him. Her dark curls almost looked ebony in the moonlight, but even in the darkness he could make out his eyes. They shone brightly from her, such intelligence and kindness. Michael inched towards her and bent down to her level. He stared at her in the eye, ignoring the lump growing in his throat.

"Yeah, baby, it's me."

A smile suddenly spread wide across Meghan's face. Her hair bounced as she darted into her father's arms and hugged him tightly, locking her small arms around his neck. He lifted her off the ground, gathering her in his arms, standing. She told him she missed him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He returned the statement, stroking her hair.

She drew back, looking at Michael. "Are you going to stay this time?" she asked.

Michael smiled to himself; sometimes he forgot she was really four. She would ask him the most adult questions about subjects he didn't even know she knew about. She truly was his daughter. "Yes." he responded. He pressed his forehead to hers. "Forever and ever."

"Meghan, what are you…"

Father and daughter looked around and found Sara. A silk robe loosely on her body, the redhead's hand is rested on the wall, her lips set in a firm line as her eyes bare into Michael's. He stares back; she isn't happy with him.

"Mommy, Daddy's home. He's staying forever!" Meghan exclaimed happily, clapping her hands as she squealed.

Michael grinned proudly at her enthusiasm. His eyes drifted to Sara, examining her facial expression as she was fed this information. He suddenly sensed that there was something that was needed to said between them. He hoped it would be a pleasant house warming, but he felt it was far from that. He cautiously set Meghan back on the floor, patting her shoulder.

Sara snatched her hand, drawing her attention to her. "Honey, why don't you go find your new toy so you can show Dad."

Meghan nodded and skipped to her room, disappearing into the shadows. All that could be heard was her humming. A silence enveloped Sara and Michael, the couple completely at loss at what to say to each other. Sara crossed her arms over her chest, opening her mouth to say something, but Michael beat her.

"She acts like you." he praised.

"Michael, please don't put her through this again. She doesn't deserve to have you be here for a while then disappear one morning without a good-bye. I can't fall for that again. I can't let you break both our hearts again." Sara informed, her tone stern and firm in her topic.

Michael took a step closer to her. "That won't happen. I'm telling you the truth."

Sara's lip trembled. "Please, Michael, it's been four months since we last saw you. Why haven't you come to us since then?"

"Sara, you know why. You know what that would've done to us. What would've happened."

Sara nodded, looking away. How could she break down now? She had told herself she was going to be strong for her daughter this time, so what was this? How could she just lose herself? Why did her have this power over her now? "I just thought you didn't want to see me…to see us…"

Michael closed the distance between them. He hooked her chin and lifted her eyes to his. "Hey, of course I did." he breathed in a low whisper. "I wanted to see you two every day. I just couldn't. But now I can be here. Veronica found new evidence, concrete evidence that will save us. The trial's set for next week. It just hasn't been made public yet."

Sara swallowed. "Why should I believe you? It wouldn't have been the first time you've lied."

"I would never lie to you when it came to my daughter." Michael insisted.

Sara knew it was true. This girl was what bound them together and that wasn't an apparition. "So it's for real this time?"

Michael cupped her face and nodded, allowing her to make the next move for them. Abruptly, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him to her, kissing him passionately like she has done on so many other occasions like this. The only exception of tonight is that this is true and marks the end to constant running and unknown whereabouts, to insecurity and uncertainty. They pulled back and embraced, her tears soaking into his shirt. He doesn't notice. They're oblivious to a small spy until she giggled.

Michael wound his arm around Sara's waist as mother picked daughter up, balancing her on her hip. The two shared a look. "You know, Michael, you have perfect timing."

"Why?" Michael inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Meghan has her very first play tomorrow." Sara said.

Michael grinned.

XXXX

Next: the Epilogue.

**A/N: **Hey, sorry if this chapter is different from the rest. It's supposed to be less on the drama and more of the unity of a family for the final time. Please R/R. Oh, and don't forget to put in nominations for the first ever Prison Break Fanfiction Awards (interesting, huh?). Go to prison break fanfic .com for information.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note: **Hey, this is the epilogue, the final chapter to an interesting turn of events. Thank-you to the people that reviewed this piece and the people who've read it. After this I'm going to mainly attempt to focus only on _A Cappella_, but we'll see how that goes.

XXXX

Michael shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, clasping his hands together in a fist, and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. The chair was child-sized, too small for his grown form, but the sight in front of him made him forget the complaints of the seating. He laughed as a blond boy dressed in a lion's costume extended his arms, crinkling his fingers to illustrate claws, let out a small roar and scampered to the tree stand. The nine children behind him twirled in a choreographed dance, a couple stumbling slightly, belting out the background lyrics to the boy's song.

The small classroom, colorful decorations and finger paintings hung on every wall space imaginable, remnants of the day's art project scattered on the rectangular desks pushed into the corner, had been transformed into a theater room. The students were on the dais, fully adorned in a variety of animal costumes, their faces painted with make-up for the part they played. They wore smiles, excitedly singing for their parents. The audience of twenty or so adults were bunched together in front of the stage, some fidgeting in the children's desk chairs, some in the back sitting on the desks, or crossed-legged on the ground. Everyone watched the kids intently, unable to take their eyes off of them.

Michael found Meghan standing off to the right, near the edge of the stage, and smiled. It astounded him that this was what his life could be from now on. Two years ago he was a man so astutely focused on the well fare of other people verses himself that he'd been thrown into a tornado of workaholic antics, beating his brain against the wall that incarcerated his kin. He hadn't cared in the beginning who he hurt because all he wanted was to free his brother and he'd worked that manipulation to the point where life got in the way. Sara and Meghan had gotten into the way. And now he was sitting in a pre-kindergarten classroom, watching his daughter perform her first of many school plays.

Not once in the past had he ever considered the possibility of raising a child. He knew that it would have been nice—he was good with children—but he was too overwhelmed with the haunting that he could end up like his own father. Therefore, he was reluctant in settling down since the idea of children would arrive. On the night that he had met his daughter for the first time, he'd lain on Sara's bed and had voiced his concern about his ability to raise her. Could he do it? Would he follow the curse of the men in his family? Lincoln hadn't exactly been a model father when it came to his son, so why did he think that he would take care of his family any better? His love had stroked her child's head, brushing the soft hairs, and laid her head on his shoulder. _You're here, aren't you? That proves you're not your father. You're here with us. _

Maybe it was true. He didn't remember his father ever being there when he was growing up. Lincoln told him about him, but all he wanted to know was that he had run off without a word, leaving his mother and brother to fend for themselves. Michael held Sara that night, cradling his baby in his arms, and knew he'd never leave them alone. He wanted to have this life and he was going to work his hardest to fulfill this desire.

The little boy bowed out and Meghan stepped forward; Michael grabbed Sara's hand beside him, resting them on her leg. Meghan stood in the center of the stage, dressed in a gray rabbit's costume, gesturing as she started her rehearsed song, singing in the high-pitched voice that belonged to a child. Her parents watched her. Her dark curls were tucked underneath the headpiece, the floppy ears bouncing across her blue eyes, but she carried on the play with an exuberant confidence that was the quintessential of both adults. She traced her fingers, index finger pointed out, in an outline of a circle, singing about a rabbit's hole. Michael's eyes followed her as she hopped across the stage, her arms tucked in, hands limp to exemplify paws. She leapt, he smiled.

Sara glanced at him, catching his reflection in the corner of her eye. He was fighting a tear. He hadn't gone through the journey correctly, unlike many of the men sitting in the room who had changed diapers and aided in learning the alphabet or number system. He'd been absent for most of Meghan's life, unable to watch her grow because of his past and the crimes he had committed to save the person he loved. He risked his own safety to see her the few times he broke and wept, running through the shadows to seek the two girls who held his heart. There hadn't been a returning point; he'd done what he had done and there wasn't any changing that fact.

Sara glanced around her and noticed two mothers—mothers on the PTA Boards—whispering and giggling to one another. Their eyes were pointed at her, searing into the back of Michael's head; several times one of their fingers would lift and pick her out. She scowled, narrowing her eyes at them. The woman hushed involuntarily, noting they had been caught in their gossip of the woman loved by the escaped convict, and fixated themselves on the show. Sara sighed helplessly and looked back to Michael. She squeezed his hand, beckoning him silently to glance at her. He cast a look, his features turning to confusion by the expression on her face. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling closer as he wrapped his arm around her.

Being with him had never bothered her, not as it had for other people she knew. She'd known since this had all begun that people were going to criticize them and they were going to disapprove, but all that mattered was that she and Michael could live the life they chose together. She hated the words of scorn and judgement, she hated how she heard people whisper when she walked by, she hated that people talked about Michael like scum, and she hated that her daughter had to be caught in the middle. A mother never wants harm to come to her child and she has a divine right to protect herself and the life of her offspring. One more than one occasion she'd had people come and spit lies in her face, scaring her on some level that she'd break into tears in the car. Michael and Sara had agreed, for her safety, that they would wait for several years to tell Meghan about this part of her life, to explain why people treated her parents so differently. It was for the best. But she had proved to be a wise girl for her age; she understood that danger was lurking and comfort was needed. She provided the solace.

Barely anyone gave Michael the courtesy of giving an impression. No one allowed them to get to know him fully. If they did, they would see from one look in his eye as he doted on Meghan that he had an immense love for the little girl. His life had skyrocketed off-course at some part and had safely landed him in a future that he was grateful for, one that was perfectly acceptable by his standards. In the beginning he didn't expect this outcome, like he hadn't expected the literal nightmare would send him a woman to love or that the experience would reproduce a child, but life is funny that way, isn't it?

XXXX

"There's my girl!" Michael bellowed joyously.

Meghan darted out of the classroom and ran into her father's open arms, the rabbit ears slapping her forehead, squirming when he balanced her on his hip. She slung one arm around his neck, her nail poised at her lips, and smiled at Michael and Sara who had surrounded her with praises for the night's performance. She grinned proudly, clenching her pink tongue between her teeth.

"You were great, baby." Sara said, holding Meghan's small hand in her own.

Michael agreed automatically. Meghan shrugged. The play had ended with an embrace of all the children in one song about world peace and, while the boys and girls had undressed in the accorded bathrooms, the parents had migrated to the cafeteria to socialize. Michael and Sara hadn't lingered long, supporting a couple glasses of punch and talking to another group of adults, since Meghan never stayed in one place too long. As predicted, they had gotten back to the classroom to pick her up just when she'd turned in the costume to her teacher. She greeted them in a red sundress.

"Did you at least have fun?" Michael inquired, holding her on his hip with both hands.

A few pairs of parents were waiting for their children in the hallway as well, one discussing a matter with the teacher, but Michael turned and started to make his way for the front door, not enjoying the feel of their eyes on his family. Sara caught the teacher's eye and waved at the woman. She returned the gesture.

"Yeah. But practicing was more fun." Meghan confessed, dropping one hand at her shoulder to twirl a strand of hair around her finger.

Sara strolled beside them, walking in stride with Michael, listening to the conversation. "Why was it better?"

Again, Meghan shrugged. Michael glowered sarcastically at the little girl, then his eyes found the ears pointed up on her head, attached to a plastic headband settled in her hair by a coil. It reminded him of the silly antennae kids used to wear when mocking aliens. He patted down on the ears. "What are these?" he asked.

Meghan immediately covered the ears with her hands, protecting the furry cloth. "Daddy! These are my ears!" she exclaimed.

Michael held up a hand, defenseless. "I'm sorry." he replied in a child's whine.

As they neared the door, Michael's ear caught the faint echo of pounding water on asphalt. He looked to the front door and found a crowd of families around the door, helplessly stationed there, isolated under the porte cochere. Michael wondered aloud, grabbing Sara's attention. She narrowed her eyes and ventured ahead, leaving Michael and Meghan at their leisure pace. She pushed open the door just as Michael came up behind her, reaching out to hold it open for them. She whimpered.

Huddled under the cover, families mystified at the sudden downpour, staring in confused anger as the rain sheeted down in a white glow, making any visibility nearly impossible. The sudden life of red and yellow lights could barely be seen radiating through the maze of cars, sending out rays onto other vehicles. The lights danced across their frozen forms. The pavement had been transformed into a glassy gloss, the sheen clearly reflected. Michael set Meghan down gingerly; she held Sara's hand.

Michael peaked his head out, examining the melancholy black and gray clouds over their heads. A droplet just missed the tip of his nose. "Was there any rain in the forecast?" he questioned, thinking back to the last weather report he'd seen, which had been almost three days ago.

"Not that I was aware of." Sara professed. She looked at him, studying his spacious coat. "Did you bring an umbrella?"

"Well, no. It wasn't supposed to rain." he retorted.

"Well,"—her shoulders drooped—"that's what you get for parking on the other end of the parking lot."

Michael gapped at her. She arched an eyebrow at him, urging him on to play. Smirking, he hastily grabbed her hand and wound it behind her back as he wrapped her in his arms. "Hush." he commanded.

"Oh, don't tell me to hush. You got us stuck in this." she playfully countered. He kissed her cheek; Meghan whined, pleading that they not embarrass her. They smiled at her. "What do you propose we do?"

"Well," Michael considered. "We're here and our car's out there so…" He kept a firm grip on Sara's hand and stepped back, pulling her out from under the cover. He mischievously grinned at Meghan. "We run."

Before Sara could sputter a word of protest, she was dashing for the car, screaming Michael's name. Meghan laughed beside her, her wet locks flying behind her. Sara shrieked again, clasping her eyes closed as laughter bubbled from her throat, their figures now fleeting guises wrapped in a white sheet. Michael ran ahead of the girls, leading the way through the rumble. He held Sara's hand above his hand as they squeezed in between two cars, yelling a word of encouragement. He fondled the keys in his pocket, drew them out, and unlocked the car quickly. It blinked twice.

He released Sara's hand. They parted sides, drops thundering off their faces and clothing. Michael noticed Meghan was missing. He looked back and smiled, remembering in that moment why he was going to love being a father. She stood behind the car; head titled back in a welcoming to the storm, enjoying the warm rain. The water had rapidly mottled her clothes, wrinkled and frumpy as the rain absorbed into the fabric. Water sluiced down her face, capturing her cheeks and lips. She could feel it soaking her skin and slide down her neck. She opened her mouth. Moisture flowed in and she tasted the dusty sweetness of it. She twirled in the torrent, clothes clinging, her arms stretched to the dark sky.

Thunder reverberated through the neighborhood, punctuating a bright flash of lightning. The girl slowly came to a stop. All around her leaves shivered and shook from the impact of the storm. On all sides the grass glistened in the faint light. The soft spatter of petite splashes was heard wherever drops fell on the drenched sidewalk. She heard a car swashing down further in the lot before she saw it; water sprayed from its wheels as it sped through the puddles on the uneven street. The sound grew louder, then fainter as it passed.

"Meghan!" Michael called, raising his voice to be audible. "Come on!"

The little girl whirled around to her dad and ran for the safety of the car. He braced the door open and slammed it shut as she slipped in, climbing in the vehicle himself. Sara shook her hair out, wetting her fingers, sporting a vivacious curly coiffure.

She giggled then pointed a menacing finger at the man beside her. "I blame you."

Michael gazed at her, completely oblivious to what she said. He admired her, how her red hair was threaded and plastered to her smooth skin, how she wore that large smile even though she'd been pulled into running across a parking lot in the rain, how she was gazing at him with the equal amount of fire and adoration.

"Dad, I don't want to go home." Meghan declared, plumping out her lip in a defiant pout.

Michael turned in his seat, a smear smoothing across the leather. "You don't want to go home? What do you want to do then?"

Meghan shrugged, her infinite answer for her indecisive attitude. "I think it's past Meghan's bedtime." Sara voiced maternally.

"Sara, come on."

"Mommy! Please!" Meghan begged in unison.

"Yeah, Mom, let us go somewhere." Michael echoed.

Sara huffed, mouth open in disbelief at Michael. He really was getting good at this. She collapsed against the seat, crossing her arms over her drenched shirt. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

"How does ice cream sound, Meg?" Michael offered.

Meghan gasped excitedly, her entire body arching upwards in absolute agree. "But no chocolate." Sara jumped in. "You have that you'll have so much energy tonight that you'll be bouncing off the walls."

Michael raised his eyebrows, thinking in his mind. He started the car. "That has me sold."

Sara gawked at him, seeing the hidden agenda in the statement. She lightly swatted his arm. He stuck his tongue out at her. He eased them out of the parking lot, following behind an SUV, and veered off down the slick street, killing the reflections of the red and yellow traffic lights. He and Meghan stumbled into an ebullient retelling of a birthday party she had recently gone to where the little boy who turned five had gotten cake smeared in his face. Michael bounced questions back at her, relishing the feeling of her words.

Sara watched him, smiling to herself, head titled, thinking this was his place. After everything he had been through, after everything he had witnessed that had brought him to this moment, he deserved this. He deserved to be normal and not have to worry about the government coming after him and his family. She reached for his hand rested in the space between them. He took his eyes off the road and looked at her. She offered a smile. He rose her hand to his lips and kissed it, his thumb caressing the skin.

Sara had searched her whole life for what she saw as her place in life. Sitting a classroom decorated by the hands of four- and five-year-olds, in the arms of the inmate that took her heart and gave her a daughter, she found her place. That place was with her family and for the first time in nearly five years, that what she could call it: a family.

XXXX

FIN

**A/N: **Well, there was the epilogue. I hoped you enjoyed this story; I sure enjoyed writing it since I didn't think it was worth it when I first started it seven months ago. I don't know what prompted me to end it with rain and ice cream. I suppose it could be the fact that it's raining here and I remember dancing in the rain as a little girl. Do you remember those days? I do; they were carefree, enjoyable. Anyway, that's it for now. I'll catch ya on the flip-side.


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